“Okay, Hunter, let’s have a look at you.” Marge talked softly to him as she carefully examined his arms and legs, his back and head, with the practiced movements of someone who worked with kids for a living. Hunter quieted and began to hiccup. “Where does it hurt?”

Snot ran from his nose, and he rubbed his eyes. Bea realized her fingernails were digging into her palms, and she shook out her hands.

“I think he’s fine.” Marge looked over at her. “I bet it scared him more than anything. Good thing you have this nice thick carpet in here.”

Bea’s brow furrowed. “He’s fine?”

Marge nodded. “Completely fine.”

“But he’s been crying for over an hour. He wouldn’t stop. I put him down to take a quick break, and—”

A small sob cut off her words. How could she have been so self-absorbed? Her thoughtlessness had endangered her friend’s baby.

Marge stood Hunter up at the coffee table and stuck one hand in front of him to play with. While he pulled at her fingers, she placed her other hand on Bea’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t get him to stop,” Bea said.

“Sometimes babies just cry. He probably misses his mother. Maybe he’s extra tired. Maybe he has a tummy ache from gas.”

“You got him to stop.”

Marge shrugged. “He needed a distraction. And I have a lot more experience than you. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Bea watched Hunter poke Marge’s hand. “I should wash his face.”

“You go get a washcloth. I’ll stay with him.”

Bea scrambled to her feet and ran a washcloth under warm water in the bathroom. As she wrung it out, she took a deep breath. Then another. Hunter was fine. Amber would be back soon. Her life was not over.

Holy hormones.

She returned to the living room and held the washcloth out to Marge.

Marge didn’t reach for it. “You go ahead.”

Bea knelt beside Hunter but hesitated, sure he would start crying again if she touched him. But something needed to be done about the snot that had smeared all over his face and was starting to crust over. It had carpet fuzz stuck in it.

She carefully wiped his face. He pulled back, tossing his head back and forth, yet he didn’t cry out. It took a couple of tries, but she got it all off.

“There.” Marge smiled at the baby. “Good as new.”

Bea resisted the urge to check the time. Probably only ten minutes or so until Amber’s return. An awkward moment stretched between her and Marge as they watched Hunter play at the table.

“Thanks,” Bea finally said. “For your help.”

Marge waved a hand. “Sorry for barging in like that. I just got worried when I heard all the commotion.”

“No, I’m glad you did.”

“It wasn’t locked.”

“It never is.”